by Philip Cox
They took the path from the lot to the museum entrance. An employee was at the main doors, talking to a family of tourists. As they approached, he finished his conversation and turned to Leroy and Quinn. They showed their badges and Leroy asked for Carter Thorne.
The employee who according to his name badge was called Jerry, said, ‘Yes, He’s around. I saw him a few moments ago. There he is, over there, by the UPS truck.’
By the brown truck, chatting to the driver was a man wearing a dark suit. Quinn thanked Jerry and they walked over to the truck.
‘That has to be him,’ said Leroy, as they approached. ‘He has that ex-cop look about him. Like Lew Bridger.’ As they approached, Thorne, who had seen them coming, tapped the side of the UPS truck, which pulled away. He straightened, turned to them, clicked his fingers, and pointed to Leroy.
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘Leroy. Sam Leroy.’
‘The very same,’ Leroy replied, holding out his badge. He introduced Quinn.
As they all shook hands, Thorne said, ‘How can I help you guys?’
‘It’s about a case you and Detective Gomez worked on, back in the day. A homicide up in Hollywood. Guy by the name of Chase Underwood. Ring any bells?’
‘Underwood… Underwood.’ Thorne shook his head slowly as he tried to recall the name.
‘He was clubbed to death with an imitation Academy Award,’ Leroy prompted.
‘Yes, I recall,’ said Thorne. ‘The two guys on Hollywood Boulevard. I’d figured his boyfriend for it.’
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ said Leroy. ‘But the boyfriend had an alibi. He was in Santa Barbara with a girlfriend.’
Thorne nodded.
‘I remember the case now. Yeah, I remember thinking that alibi was bullshit. He’d planned it all with the woman. No way was he up there fucking her while somebody else did his boyfriend in.’
‘The hotel staff confirmed his alibi.’
‘Still bullshit. He could’ve checked in there, made sure he’d been seen, then driven back to LA, done the vic, then driven right back. Santa Barbara? Ninety minutes on the 101 – easy peasy, Japanesey.’
‘You felt that way at the time?’
‘Yeah, but I got overruled. Gomez was the senior partner, the detective 3. He believed them, had his eye on the guy who ended up getting charged.’
‘Chuck Wu.’
‘If you say so. The lieutenant agreed, the captain agreed, so Wu was charged.’
‘The DA didn’t agree,’ said Quinn.
‘No, he didn’t. Lack of quality evidence; unlikely to get a conviction. Waste of City funds or something like that.’
‘So what happened?’
Thorne shrugged.
‘Nothing happened. By the time it had gotten to court, Gomez and I were on different cases. The LAPD still said Wu was guilty, but it was a case of let’s move on, you can’t win ’em all.’
‘So your theory was that the woman was involved. What motive would she have?’
‘Search me. That was what I thought. But that was years ago: this is the first time I’ve even thought about it since then. Why? Has the case been reopened?’
‘No. Martin Wheat has been murdered.’
‘No shit? With another award?’
‘No, he was shot off Mulholland Drive.’
Thorne laughed.
‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fella.’
‘Oh?’ asked Leroy. ‘How so?’
‘He was a prick. A cocksucker. Literally.’ Thorne paused to laugh at his own joke. ‘At that time he was a porn actor. He had just gotten into producing and directing his own. But he was supercilious – had his head up his own ass. Thought he was Cecil B. fucking DeMille, or John fucking Holmes.’ He looked over at Quinn, who seemed puzzled. ‘Famous seventies porn actor.’ Quinn nodded.
‘What was your take on the woman?’ Leroy asked. ‘Alicia Kuschner.’
‘Don’t say as I can recall much about her. Came from money, Boston? Had a nice condo off Wilshire, I remember. We saw her there. Not Wilshire here, further west.’
‘You didn’t believe her, then?’
Thorne shook his head.
‘No, I didn’t; but as I told you: I was a lowly D1, and my opinion didn’t count.’
‘She married Wheat later,’ Leroy told him.
‘Yeah?’ said Thorne. ‘Maybe that validates what I told the others all along. So she’s the merry widow now? I’d say rich widow, but she was worth more than he was.’
‘No, she’s not. They divorced, and Wheat got married again.’
‘To a woman?’
‘Sure.’
‘Just thought I’d clarify that,’ said Thorne. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. He probably got bored with her, like he got bored with the lifeguard.’
‘Was Underwood a lifeguard?’ asked Quinn.
‘You seen his pictures? Had to have been at some time. What does all this have to do with Wheat’s murder? Do you think they’re connected?’
‘I don’t know at this point. We’re just starting the investigation. It’s one mother of a coincidence: Wheat is murdered, as was his partner years back.’
‘You read the murder book?’
‘I have, yeah; but I just wanted to get your take on it. Particularly as you disagreed with the way the investigation went.’
‘Sure. Is there anything else I can help you with? I need to get back to work.’
‘Not right now. Call me if anything else comes to mind.’ Leroy passed Thorne his card. ‘By the way, why did you leave the Department?’
‘It was kind of different after Gomez retired. I knew it was always gonna be, but my new partner was an asshole, and the place I went to headhunted me.’
‘Pacific Licensing?’
‘Is that how you found me? They sent you over here?’
Leroy nodded.
‘So I figured, I’ve done my time on the streets; why not earn more not putting my life at risk every day?’
‘Why’d you leave there, then?’
‘The CEO there was an asshole.’
Leroy nodded.
‘Everything okay here? No assholes at this place?’
‘No problem here, man. All the guys here are cool. And it’s a great place. You ever visited?’
‘Once,’ Leroy replied. ‘Ray’s never been.’
‘You need to come,’ Thorne said to Quinn. ‘Any kids? Kids love it here, all the dinosaurs, and bones and stuff.’
‘No, no kids.’
‘Well, come anyway. I can get you reductions. Call me.’
‘We will,’ said Leroy as they shook hands and left Thorne walking back inside the museum. ‘Let’s get going,’ he said to Quinn. ‘Your turn to drive. Let’s talk to the ex.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘Head west along here as far as the 405,’ Leroy said as Quinn pulled into the Wilshire Boulevard traffic. He checked the GPS on the dashboard. ‘Then take the freeway down to Crenshaw, which will take us directly into Palos Verdes.’
‘Where she’s living her new life.’
‘Looks that way. As Mrs Alicia Kuschner Ahmadi.’
‘Married a rich Arab?’
‘Iranian is my guess,’ said Leroy. ‘Jewish Iranian.’
‘How in the hell do you make that out?’
Leroy glanced over at his partner.
‘You remember the Iranian revolution, late seventies, early eighties, something like that?’
‘Before my time, Sam.’
‘Before my time too. The Iranian leader - Shah, I think his title was - was overthrown and an Islamic state was established there. Like it is now.’
‘Yeah. And?’
‘During this revolution, thousands of Iranians fled the country before the fundamentalists took control.’
‘And they fled over here?’
‘Right. Especially if they were Jewish because they feared persecution more than non-Jews. Those that came to the United States settled down in Palos Verdes. You didn’t kno
w that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Ray, for a born and bred Angelino, you know surprisingly little about your hometown.’
‘And you took a degree course.’
‘Not exactly, but because I’ve travelled some, I’m not as parochial as some of you natives.’
Quinn shook his head, laughing.
Soon they were exiting the 405 and headed south along Crenshaw. A while later just after the Torrance Municipal Airport, the Boulevard started twisting. Leroy pointed out where Quinn should exit.
‘Burrell Lane,’ Quinn said after a few minutes. He made a right.
Alicia Ahmadi’s house was part of a gated community. Quinn pulled up at a check point barrier. A guy who must have been seventy if he was a day, stepped out of the kiosk. He wore dark brown pants and matching shirt, yellow tie.
‘Are we in the right place for the Ahmadi house?’ Quinn asked.
‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Ahmadi?’ the guard asked.
They showed their badges.
‘No, we don’t, but it’s Mrs Ahmadi we need to talk to,’ said Quinn.
‘I’ll just call the house and announce you.’
He disappeared into the kiosk. They could hear the guard talking, then the barrier lifted. He waved as they passed through.
The Ahmadi house was around a leisurely bend. Quinn pulled into the driveway and parked next to a gleaming black Hyundai. They walked up the wide set of five steps to the door, which opened before they were able to knock. The woman standing in the doorway was tall, blonde, and tanned. She wore a long black dress with a slit down one side which accentuated her leggy figure.
‘I wondered how long it would take you guys,’ she said.
‘Excuse me,’ asked Leroy as they showed their badges. ‘Mrs Ahmadi?’
‘Yes, I’m Mrs Ahmadi.’
‘You were expecting us?’ asked Leroy. ‘Why?’
‘Marty’s murder. I figured you’d be contacting me.’
‘How did you know about your ex-husband’s murder?’ Leroy asked.
‘I saw it on Facebook.’
‘You did what?’ asked Leroy incredulously.
‘My replacement posted an announcement. She tagged in a friend of Marty’s, who’s also still a friend of mine, on Facebook, anyway. So I saw it.’
‘May we see the post, Mrs Ahmadi?’
‘Sure. Come on in.’ She led them into the wide, spacious hall. The walls were whitewashed, and a wide circular staircase led up to the second floor. ‘Wait here, please.’
She left them alone for a couple of minutes, returning with her phone. ‘Here.’
Leroy looked at the posting. It featured a picture of Wheat, taken a few years back, with the year of birth and year of death. Half a dozen people were tagged in. There were a few comments posted.
‘I see, thank you,’ said Leroy.
‘You seemed surprised,’ she said.
‘It does seem unconventional,’ said Quinn.
‘That’s what I think,’ Mrs Ahmadi said. ‘But, there you go.’
‘First of all,’ said Leroy. ‘Sorry for your loss.’
‘Not my loss, Detective. How was he killed?’
‘He was found off Mulholland Drive. On a kind of overlook.’
‘What was he doing there?’
‘It looks as if he was walking his dogs.’
‘Those damned dogs. They were his, not mine. I hated them. Noisy, dirty. I hope whoever did it, got rid of them also.’
Leroy glanced over to Quinn before he replied.
‘One of them was shot, we guess trying to defend your ex-husband. The other was either taken or ran away.’
She snorted and shook her head.
‘How can I help you, anyway?’
‘First of all, are you aware of anybody who might want to kill Mr Wheat?’
‘No, of course I don’t. Surely you don’t think I’m a suspect?’
‘No, that’s not why we’re here. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Chase Underwood.’
The expression on her face froze.
‘That’s not a name I thought I’d ever hear again.’
‘What do you know about him, ma’am?’
‘Not much. As I’m sure you know, he lived with my ex-husband for a while before we married. I didn’t know they were together, in that sense, until some time after we had gotten married.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘Surprised at first. I knew he existed, and I know he was murdered in our house. Marty’s house, I should say. Marty told me he was an employee and was house sitting while we were away.’
‘Away in Santa Barbara?’
She laughed.
‘Yes, Detective, away in Santa Barbara.’
‘And you had no problem with his past?’
‘It didn’t affect our marriage, if that’s what you’re asking. Not materially. The marriage was collapsing by then, anyway, when I found out. He was banging one of the actresses on those godawful movies he made. She became my replacement.’
‘How did you meet?’ asked Leroy.
‘I wasn’t one of his actresses, if that’s what you’re asking. We met in a bar. I know it’s a cliché, but that’s how it happened. Do you have many more questions? My husband will be home soon and I’d rather he didn’t know about all of this.’
‘No, I think we’re done here, Mrs Ahmadi. Thank you for your time. Here’s my cell number if you recall anything else about Chase Underwood.’
She took the card.
‘It’s unlikely, but yes.’
‘Thanks for your time, ma’am,’ said Leroy, as they left.
‘Were you expecting much from her?’ asked Quinn as he reversed off the driveway.
‘No, but it was a base we had to cover. Let’s head back to the station. I’m not sure if Chase Underwood is just a red herring. Just a coincidence that Wheat and his former boyfriend were both murdered, years apart. We’ve plenty of other avenues to go down.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
While Quinn took them back up Crenshaw Boulevard, Leroy swung over the car’s Mobile Data Computer. He retrieved the digitized files for Chase Underwood’s murder.
‘What are you looking for?’ Quinn asked.
‘I want the last known address for Chuck Wu. Before we close this line of enquiry, I want us to talk to him.’
‘What are you expecting to get from him?’
‘I don’t know…’
Quinn finished Leroy’s sentence.
‘But we’ll know it when we hear it.’
‘You got it, Ray.’
‘Where does he live? What’s his last known address?’
‘His last known address is,’ Leroy replied as he trawled down the page, ‘Bernard Street, 90012.’
‘Where’s that? 90012: that’s downtown, isn’t it?’
Leroy switched to the maps function.
‘Chinatown, would you believe. Between Broadway and Hill.’
It took an hour to get to Chinatown, after a brief debate on the route: Leroy said Quinn should head for the 110 and take the freeway directly into the downtown area; Quinn said that at this time of day, taking the surface streets would be a better option. Leroy checked the traffic reports then silently put his phone back in his pocket.
‘Well?’ asked Quinn.
‘The 101 North is snarled up.’
Quinn said nothing.
Chuck Wu’s last known address was in a small apartment building, two floors plain grey with roof detail Chinese style. Door number Three. They knocked, and momentarily the door was opened by a tiny old Chinese lady. No more than four feet six, she must have been at least eighty years of age, and had unnaturally black hair, tied in a bun. They flashed their badges at her.
‘We’re looking for Chuck Wu,’ Leroy said. ‘We have this as his address.’
The old lady looked at him, shook her head, and said something in Chinese.
‘Do you speak English?’ Ler
oy asked.
The lady shook her head and shrugged.
‘Landlord? Superintendent?’ Quinn asked.
Same response.
‘Okay, sorry to have disturbed you, ma’am,’ said Leroy as he turned away. ‘You have a nice day. Let’s try another door,’ he added to Quinn as they headed back to the sidewalk. They walked to the corner of the building, by an alley which led to parking spaces at the back of the building. Just as they got to the corner, they saw a young Asian man walk up to Number Three. He was carrying a brown paper bag of groceries. They immediately turned back.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ Leroy called out, whereupon the man dropped the grocery bag on the path and ran. ‘Stop. LAPD!’ Leroy called. The man kept running.
He ran across Bernard Street, through the parking lot of the Royal Pagoda Motel, to Broadway. Quinn chased after him, while Leroy ran back to the Taurus, made a one-eighty, and blue-lighted onto Broadway. He saw the man emerge onto the sidewalk from the alley between the traditionally built World Trade United Foundation and the more contemporary Far East National Bank. Siren whooping, Leroy pulled onto the sidewalk, cutting off the man’s escape route. The man paused, not knowing which way to go. Leroy leapt out of the Taurus.
‘Up against the wall. Assume the position.’ The man complied.
By the time Quinn arrived, Leroy was already searching.
‘He’s clean.’ He took out the man’s wallet and checked the driver’s licence. ‘Jimmy Fang. Is that you?’ he asked, pulling the man around so he had his back to the wall. Fang nodded.
‘Why did you run?’ Quinn asked breathlessly, noticing that Fang was not out of breath.
‘You guys are always picking us up,’ Fang replied.
‘It’s cool, Jimmy, take it easy,’ said Leroy as he handed Fang back his wallet. ‘I just want to ask you some questions. Do you know anyone by the name of Chuck Wu?’
‘No, never heard of him.’
‘We have Apartment Three as his last known address.’
